


written on the body

by justbreathe80



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-15
Updated: 2009-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-04 11:02:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbreathe80/pseuds/justbreathe80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He bit down, hard, on his bottom lip, tasting blood, when the needle pierced his skin, up high on his shoulder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	written on the body

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the sga_flashfic Body Modification Challenge
> 
> I've been ruminating on this for WEEKS, and I'm so glad I finally got to write it. Many, MANY thanks to strangecobwebs and misspamela for the WONDERFUL betas! *kisses to you both*

I.

Ronon joined the Satedan military when he was fourteen. He can remember the look on Sheppard's face the first time he said that, his eyebrows creeping up high on his forehead, like they did when he was surprised or confused. That was back before Ronon understood just how very different Earth was from Sateda.

He's watched enough movies with Teyla to know that at fourteen, most people on Earth are still children. Defying their parents, sneaking out, going to school. But it was not that way for him.

He got the first one that first night, bunked down with his battalion. It wasn't exactly something he agreed to, but he didn't struggle when he was held down by four rough, strong hands, face down on the dirt floor. He bit down, hard, on his bottom lip, tasting blood, when the needle pierced his skin, up high on his shoulder.

When they were done, there was just a slight pang in his shoulder, and they let him up off of the ground. He saw the long, thin black lines in the same spot on one of the others, and he figured that it was just part of it. Part of being a soldier.

He knew it wouldn't be the only mark he'd get.

II.

Ronon had been rising in the ranks of the Satedan military, and, in his nineteenth year, he joined a unit under Kell's command. Kell was well known as a shrewd and fierce warrior, but he was also known as fair, and Ronon was pleased to serve him.

He surprised even himself by how fast he ended up in Kell's bed.

It wasn't that it was surprising that he would at all; it was not unheard of to find someone in the unit to bed down with. He'd done it himself, more than once, but never with a commanding officer. And never over and over again, like this.

He knew it wasn't the smartest thing for his career, or for his relationship with the others in his unit, but he never could seem to care very much when he was on his back, legs up and spread, Kell thrusting into him and telling him that he loved him, that there wasn't anyone as good as Ronon Dex.

He wasn't stupid enough to believe it, but he still liked the way it sounded.

It was three months after they started, and just a few weeks after Ronon stopped going back to his own bunk every night, when Kell rolled over on top of him. He was asking Ronon something with his eyes, and even though he didn't know exactly what the question was, Ronon nodded. Kell leaned over to pick something up off of the floor, and placed the small leather pouch on the bed, next to Ronon's leg, before pushing at Ronon gently but firmly to turn over.

This was his second, with his head pillowed on his arms, the sharp point of the needle in the thick skin at his hip, Kell's thumb pressing in the ink, just barely above the rise of his ass. Kell's mark on him, and he could tell by running his fingers over it, when it was done, that it was the same one he'd seen before. On Kell. On others.

At first, it bothered him, but he stopped caring when he felt the hot press of Kell's lips on that spot, the pain flaring up, searing and bright. It was good.

It was the only one he wished he could cut out of his skin, like the transmitter.

III.

Ronon took leave time every few months, just a couple of days to go back and see his parents. He was walking down the street, still in full uniform, carrying a basket of bread for his mother, when he ran right into someone, sending them flying.

"Oh," he said, reaching his hand down. "I'm really sorry. Are you all right?"

The hand that gripped his was strong, and when he looked, it was attached to a pretty woman with a cloud of brunette curls. He couldn't catch his breath as he pulled her to her feet.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, brushing the dirt from the street off of the back of her skirts.

"I'm Ronon," he answered, and instantly felt stupid for opening his mouth. But she was so beautiful. And when he looked at her face again, she was smiling, as big as the sun.

"Melena."

He had three days of leave, and he dutifully and happily ate dinner with his mother and father and younger brother, each night, and then quietly slipped from the house and met Melena behind her parents' barn. They sometimes just stared up at the stars, or talked. He'd never been much for talking, but she made it easy. He found himself telling her things he thought he'd never say aloud. Melena was a nurse at the city hospital and her hair smelled like milk and honey.

On his third three-day leave, a few months later, he asked Melena to marry him. She didn't hesitate or even blink before she said yes.

Ronon knew now what weddings on Earth were like; Teyla and Sheppard made him and McKay watch lots of movies with weddings in them. Satedan weddings were nothing like those. No big white dresses or hundreds of people or parties.

Ronon's parents and brother were there, and Melena's parents and her two sisters, and the simple ceremony was performed by a former military officer. Ronon wore his uniform, and Melena was beautiful in her plain gray dress. They exchanged silver bands (that much was the same as Earth, it seemed) and then they had a lively dinner with their families.

He had wanted to be able to give her something and had managed to find a small house, nearby to his parents. She smiled when he opened the front door and he smiled when she undid the buttons on her dress and dropped it in the middle of the kitchen.

Hours later, they were in their bed, naked and warm, a fire going, and Ronon remembered. He pulled out the small leather pouch and handed it to her, and she looked at him. "Ronon, what -"

He pressed the needle and the vial of ink gently into her hand. "It's all right. I want you to." It wasn't exactly custom, but neither was it uncommon for a woman to mark her husband as hers.

Melena looked down at her hand, and then back up at him, her eyes shining. She was never more stunning than at that moment. "Yes."

Ronon rolled over onto his back, stretching his arms up over his head, smiling to himself at the look of want on her face. He dropped one hand down and pointed to the hollow of his hip, just inches from his cock. "There."

Melena's hands were firm and gentle, and he barely felt the needle this time. It was the first time he got to watch it happen, and it was both scary - the silver needle plunging in and out of the pale skin - and sexy. When she was done, he drew her down on top of him, pressing into her, and she threw her head back, her mouth open.

He often found himself fingering that spot, her precise, but uneven lines, when he was alone, at night. He could still see her if he closed his eyes, but she was fading. Faster than he thought she would.

IV.

Ronon had been through the Ring four times since he'd been captured. Since they'd put this transmitter in his back and made him run. Always running, unable to stop.

This planet was good. Better than the last one. Always better when it was uninhabited, because as much as he felt completely disconnected from life and other people, he couldn't bear to bring the Wraith on another people.

And besides, the Wraith had already been to this planet and taken what they came for.

He managed to start a fire and kill some kind of small, rodent-like animal, skinning it and roasting over the fire. He let himself relax, just a tiny bit, even though he had his ears open. He knew better than to let go too much.

After he was finished eating, the light from the fire caught on a shard of metal on the ground. He could see his reflection in it, and he wished he hadn't.

Ronon leaned over and picked it up, studying his face, trying to see if he was the same person that he thought he was. If he maybe looked like them now, after all this time.

He untied the pouch from his waist, which somehow managed to make it from Sateda to the hive ship to whatever this planet was, and he pushed the sharp end of the needle into the pad of his middle finger, watching the blood well up.

It was awkward, but he laid down and propped the metal up on a rock, stretching out his neck and watching closely as he used the needle and dipped the ink into his skin. Two lines, three dots. Specialist Ronon Dex. Satedan military.

He couldn't feel anything while he did it, breaking the skin and filling in the lines, making it darker, more solid. Maybe he was just distracted by the fresh cuts on his back, from trying to get the transmitter out of him with his knife. It hadn’t worked, but he’d keep trying

When he was done, he threw the ink and the needles into the fire. He knew better than to think he'd need them again. He had all the marks he would need for this life.

It was about three hours later that he heard the snapping of twigs, about five hundred feet away, and he just managed to make it to the Ring before the bastard caught up with him.

V.

He was in Atlantis for five weeks, going to other planets through the Ring with Sheppard, McKay, and Teyla. He was walking down the hall to his quarters when he realized that he wasn't leaving. He didn't have to. Even more surprising, he didn't want to.

Sheppard was different from any commander Ronon had ever had, and he was also the best. He asked Ronon to be part of the team, and Ronon felt like he belonged to something for the first time in many years.

That night, in his bathroom, he touched the ink on the side of his neck. Specialist Dex. The only memory of being that man was how fast his hand still went to his gun, even when he knew he wasn't in danger.

It seemed like a lot of people on Atlantis had marks, ink in their skin. Not the same thing as on Sateda, but it appeared to be done as a rite of some kind, and Ronon could understand that. Even Sheppard had one, high on his left arm, disappearing underneath t-shirts and vests.

It was surprisingly easy to get his hands on needles (Teyla handed them over with a raised eyebrow, nothing more) and ink (McKay pushed it impatiently across the counter; Ronon didn't ask why McKay had it in the first place), and he sat on his bed, palm up, ink open on the bedside table.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the first push of the needle into his skin. It hurt, and he felt the wetness at the corners of his eyes, but he kept going. Pushing and pouring the ink and pushing more. Blood and ink mixed together.

"Ronon?"

He almost pressed the needle all the way into his arm, but managed to keep his fingers on it. He looked up, and Sheppard was standing in the doorway, staring.

"What are you doing?" Sheppard asked softly. Much softer than he should.

"Don't you knock?" Ronon asked. It was still one of the first sentences he'd spoken since he came here. Most were to Sheppard.

"I did, you didn't answer. And, well - Atlantis doesn't keep me out of most things. I was worried, so I opened the door." Sheppard sounded unconcerned, but he was moving closer.

"Don't," Ronon said weakly, but Sheppard was kneeling on the floor at his feet, his fingers on the sensitive skin of Ronon's forearm. He felt himself shiver.

"Hey, it's okay." Sheppard's voice was soothing, and he pulled up the edge of his shirt to wipe away the blood. Ronon felt more naked than he had when Melena had put her hands on his skin. Sheppard reached out and plucked the needle out of Ronon's hand. Ronon flushed. He should let Sheppard do this, but he still had a mark from a commander on his skin that he couldn't erase. He wasn't sure what to do with another, even though he knew, absolutely, that John Sheppard was ten times the man Kell had been.

"Tell me," Sheppard whispered, and Ronon forced himself to keep his eyes open, to watch Sheppard mark him, and Ronon told him, when he needed to, where to go.

VI.

His life hadn't been easy, not for years, and he should be used to this by now, but it still hit him like a blow to the head when Sheppard and McKay and the rest walked through the Gate. He didn't want to believe that they weren't coming back. He'd started to believe it, at least a little, when they came back.

He knew he needed this, this last one, to make this real. These people were his family, his unit, his team, this place his home, and it was right.

"For God's sake." Ronon was naked from the waist up, and face down on Teyla's bed, but he didn't need to see McKay to hear that he was annoyed. "This is ridiculous, unsanitary, and primitive."

"Shut up, McKay," Ronon said, and he heard Sheppard laugh.

"Relax, Rodney. He's done this before. And it's not like we have a licensed tattoo artist on Atlantis."

Teyla's fingertips were cool on the warm skin of his back. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

He couldn't remember being any more sure, of anything. "Yes."

Teyla worked quickly, her hands sure, and he wasn't sure if the Athosians marked their people like this, but Teyla didn't seem to need any direction. He could feel the four thick black lines forming on his back, the outlines first and then the rest, crossing together in the middle. It was right in the center, against his spine.

"There's no way that doesn't hurt," McKay said, his voice almost a whisper.

Ronon took a deep breath, and then let it out. Breathed through everything - the pain, the joy, every damn thing.

He felt a hand come down to rest against his ankle, stroking the skin at his heel. Sheppard's fingers were rough, but gentle.

His team. They were under his skin now, and he couldn't do anything to take them away.


End file.
